


don't paint over my colors

by infestedpiano



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Caring Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mentioned TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Metaphors, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Sad Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), ending's a bit weird, i'm very confused by what this is, like he doesn't actually do anything, technoblade just being there for phil just completes me, where is the humor? no one knows lol, yet again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29210781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infestedpiano/pseuds/infestedpiano
Summary: Philza is not green, he is not brown. He is not anything. He is a canvas that had once held a beautiful painting, admired by all. He is a canvas that's painting got painted over, and replaced with spreads of blood dripping from calloused fingers.I want to go home.Your home were the people, and the people are broken
Relationships: Not Really, Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade/Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 159





	don't paint over my colors

**Author's Note:**

> writing philza is actually pretty hard like he's such a interesting character? 
> 
> i do not know how to write the kissing scenes, because i'm just kind of on a spectrum constantly which is 'what techno am i using today' and i literally just,, don't want to choose??
> 
> (that's a lie, i totally favor the huge tall boar version.)

Philza is green.

Green is a color of safety, a color of warmth, of safety, of health and protection. Green is moss found while running after two children in a forest, green is a leaf held close to the heart until it shrivels up.

Philza doesn't feel green.

He feels brown.

Brown is stepping on a fallen leaf, and knowing that it's dead, that the tree it came from is dying. Brown is cradling a body close, wet mud sticking to your fingers as you weep. Brown is sinking into the earth as though your bones are shooting out of the flesh cage that is your body, gravitating towards the ground. Nature of law, force of ruining.

Philza is not green, he is not brown. He is not anything. He is a canvas that had once held a beautiful painting, admired by all. He is a canvas that's painting got painted over, and replaced with spreads of blood dripping from calloused fingers.

I want to go home.

_Your home were the people, and the people are broken_

The first thing is even though he is not anything, he still feels. His hearts still thumps in his chest, his feelings still wash over him, threatening to drown him.

He's drowning, and it hurts.

Blue is everything, dripping all over his canvas. He is blue. Blue is the calm that emerges from a storm. Philza in the middle of the storm and he is blue. Blue is picking flowers, only to realize that they're stained red with the blood of you son. 

Philza is underwater, and he has not quite come up for air yet. The water floods his mouth, filling up his lungs until they burst. He can't breathe, he can't _breathe_. He tastes salt in his mouth, and chokes on it.

A hand pulls him out, and he is pink.

Layers upon layers of pink have to be added to his canvas, to cover the overwhelmingly dark blue. Pink has a meaning now, pink is leaning on Techno with hands cradling mugs made of chipped porcelain. Pink is watching the sunrise, light dusts of watermelon mixing with an assortment of colors and just _belonging_. Pink floods his senses now, a budding warmth blossoming all throughout him.

Pink is Techno now, and Philza thinks he rather quite enjoys that.

He does enjoy it too much, late nights that stretch into morning where they just sit curled up together. Talking sometimes, or not. They don't need to talk to fill the silence, because there's no hole _to_ fill. That's what Phil admires about Techno, because they could be doing anything and as long as Phil's with Techno he _knows_ that he'll be safe. 

\--

Tommy is red, and when Phil arrives to see him passed out on the couch, he starts to wilt. Tommy is red, and red is a thrill, a danger, a need. Something that flows through your veins, fills up your body with a giddiness of feeling. Red is not knowing if you're safe, red is the blood of the fallen.

The red that Tommy is is much lighter than the dark crimson that gurgled out of Wilbur's throat, choking down his next words. Philza finds himself grateful for that.

The red that covers Tommy everywhere makes him sick, and he knows that if the young boy wasn't unconscious he probably would not have even seen them at all.

Phil is pink, but you can only create pink with red.

And Phil cups Techno's face, cradling his pink as though it'll wash away too. He doesn't want it to, he wants Techno to stay. _Please stay_. 

He doesn't say that though, and instead listens as the taller explains about the presence of red, his hands covering Phil's as if to say 'I'm here'.

_Tommy. Sullen eyed. Too skinny. Eyes flicking around wildly. Flinching if something moved next to him._

And there was red pounding in his chest, and it made him slightly dizzy. He was pink, but there was red settling in his bones. 

Philza doesn't want to be red, he rather liked being pink.

(There was a time where Phil was an overwhelming red, when his whole world was covered with red. When did that change?

_Techno, Techno, Techno)_

Still, his pink is turning darker. He knows it, Techno knows it.

Maybe that's why Techno had cradled him close that one night, the only conversation being the smallest whisper.

"I'm here."

Phil knows that, but he still presses his forehead against the other, trying to convey all his emotions through the simple gesture.

\--

The red bleeds into his skin when he finally tips over the edge. It's everything piling down, it's tensions rising once again between the people he cares about, and that's when he breaks.

The soul sand digging into his nails nearly makes him cry, although he doesn't know why.

Phil stumbles over to Techno's, grabbing the other's hands with a grin.

"We did it."

A laugh bubbles out of his throat, as Philza finally starts to breathe. No red, no green, just him.

The eyes trained on him crinkle with fondness. "We did."

\--

Philza hums slightly at the hands running over his, tracing every detail there is, flipping them over to scan both sides. It's nice, the only other sound being the fire crackling next to them, and the huffs from Techno. 

Phil is really only staring at the other, not even bothering to hide it. The concentrated way Techno's face is tightened nearly makes Phil laugh.

Finally, Techno meets his gaze. The fingers still trace over his palm absentmindedly.

Phil leans in and meets the other in something soft, but over quickly. He still melts into it. When he pulls back, his breath mingles with Techno's. He thinks that this scene will replay in his mind forever, rewinding it again and again until the memory is burned there. It doesn't matter, because he _feels_ now in this moment and finds that no colors overwhelm him.


End file.
